The Chair
by atearsarahjane
Summary: One simple, unassuming chair can mean so much to a family.


**Ig****noring the fact that the chair has actually been there since 3.3 at the latest (cba to flick through 3.1 or 3.2 rn).**

**Today is the one year anniversary of my first ever Call the Midwife fan fiction upload on here . I have 8 non-ctm fics on there today. This is my 52nd CtM fic. You guys and the wonderful people who make the program inspire me and I thank you dearly.**

For mg-bsl381 on tumblr for encouraging me to write this

Maybe 2 kettles for the beginning?

* * *

It was another slow day at Kenilworth Row Maternity Home and Shelagh Turner was bored beyond belief. There was only one patient appointment in the books and that wasn't for another hour and a half. She could hear the the thumps of her husband's repeated ball bouncing. On a normal day it would drive her up the wall but today it brought her comfort to know that no matter how singular her presence was in the room the man she loved was only meters away, the man who meant she was never truly alone because they would always be together.

She yearned to be in his office with him, she could think of many enjoyable ways to spend the 90 minutes they had together. She no longer had qualms about displaying affection in front of others and in their place of work during off hours but they were on the clock and she was a professional. Though his hair _had_ looked particularly good this morning. Just the right amount of unruliness that her fingers could comfortably tangle in whilst she pulled his head to the side to expose his neck so she could lavish it with kisses. She could just see it now-pushing him back in his seat, straddling his lap as he moaned. Her other hand ripping off his tie and undoing the series of buttons leading down. His own hands creeping up her back and round to her-

'Shelagh?' The very voice she was imagining moaning in her ear disrupted her thoughts. He grinned at her. 'Go somewhere nice?'

'Very. I was just imagining what we'd be doing if we were alone in your office and what clothes I'd be ripping you out of at this present moment in time.' She said as calmly as if she was merely answering an enquiry into the date. Patrick's jaw dropped.

'Do you feel like helping an old man visualise such occurrences? Physical clues help a lot you know. And being at the scene of the crime.' He held out his hand to her but she shook her head, barely suppressing the giggles that had risen in her once she had caught sight of his dumbstruck face.

'Sorry Doctor we're at work. It would be _highly_ unprofessional for me to leave my desk to engage in such behaviour with a high ranking work colleague. Or anyone.' She said seriously, her stern facade cracking as he sighed over dramatically.

'Oh that is a shame. I was so looking forward to-'

'Yes I know precisely what you were looking forward to. Where are you going?' Shelagh frowned as Patrick suddenly stormed back into his office. 'What are you doing?'

He bounced back into the reception area a minute later with a bottle of Tizer under one arm and two packets of crisps under the other.

'Patrick?'

'If you won't come to me than I shall come to you. We, Mrs Turner, are having a date.' He grinned widely.

'At 2pm at work with Tizer and crisps?'

'Yes.'

'Sounds great. Pull up a chair.' She giggled.

* * *

They had had to part ways eventually. Mr Foster had been late for his appointment so they had an extra 25 minutes but end it had. He had smiled when he walked through the doors-Doctor Turner was sat back in his chair, feet propped on the desk before him in the middle of a bellow as his wife sat perched on the desk next to his feet also laughing heartily. Several bottles and food packets sat in the bin. It was lovely to see such good people so happy. Both had been through a rough few years but it was clear to anyone that they were deliriously happy together though it was still rare to see them be demonstrative. Doctor Turner looked up.

'Ah Mr Foster. Come in.'

'Sorry I'm late.' He apologized as they made for the office.

Not a problem.' Doctor Turner said jovially. 'It's a slow day and it meant I got to spend more time with my beautiful wife.'

'That she is Doc. You're a lucky man.'

'Yes I am.' He winked at Shelagh before closing the door. She blushed and turned to the chair still in front of her.

'Typical man leaving me to put his chair away.' She grumbled good naturedly.

* * *

The next day Patrick had been out on an above average number of house calls-everyone and their cat suddenly needed him for something or other and so they had made nothing of it. But the day after that he was back-this time providing lemonade and two slices of almond sponge cake. It took two weeks for her to relent and ask him where the snacks were coming from-she hadn't had the chance to bake a cake in a while and their drinks cabinet never seemed depleted. He had refused to answering citing the romance of mystery. She had conceded after he promised he hadn't stolen it.

Despite the rise in patient numbers from the lull that always occurred between the lethargy of winter and the blistering sun of summer Patrick and Shelagh still managed to find time to have a mid afternoon date several times a week. Never when patients were in the waiting room and quietly if there were people on the wards but as summer grew closer and hotter, and the residents of Poplar got more and more reckless with their sunbathing it became harder to meet. The chair was always pulled up and then left for Shelagh to put back in place. Patrick had eventually cottoned on to the fact that this annoyed his wife. The sea of chairs covering the entire flat when he came home one day was clue enough. They had decided, after a bit of a row that had Tim laughing because of the absurdity of its subject, that the chair would now become a regular fixture on the other side of her desk.

* * *

He hadn't noticed it at first. A sudden rise in the number of dysentry cases had him out of the surgery a lot and then he had asked Nurse Crane to pass on a message. Her resultant gung-ho attitude approach had him rolling his eyes and what's when he caught sight of the chair sat innocently before the desk. As soon as the nurse had left Patrick had pulled Shelagh towards him, wrapping his arms around his two girls and kissing them both.

'You see that Angela? That's my chair sat there. That chair represents how much I love your Mummy and can't bear to be so far away from her when I'm all the way over there in my office. You'll appreciate it one day, you never know I may even be prepared to share it with you when you're old enough to sit on it without trying to throw your self off of it.'

'Don't go giving her ideas Patrick. I suspect she's already got a mischievous streak haven't you my darling girl. Oh I love you so much Angela.'

* * *

Several days later he had come home to find her having eschewed chairs all together. He'd been greatly amused to chance upon her sat crossed legged on their living room floor with maps spread around her and their 8 month old daughter in her lap. He pulled back just out of sight where he could watch them. She was conversing seriously with the tot about the possible cause and connections behind the dystentry outbreak. Angela was trying her best but her flailing limbs and drool just weren't producing useful results so Shelagh ended up in the armchair blowing raspberries on her belly causing her to scream out with joy.

'You and Daddy can have your special chair at the surgery but every chair is _our _special chair Angel Girl. Don't tell him but I know I'm your favourite. Can't say I blame you-your Daddy smells very bad sometimes.' She giggled looking up and meeting his eye. Busted. He laughed and walked in.

'Whereas Mummy definitely never smells like your sick my girl.' He smirked at Shelagh who to his word Patrick was more than happy to share his seat with Angela as she grew up. The first time she managed to get on it without help they had cried. She was growing up far too fast.

* * *

A new tradition soon began. Patrick had the seat during school time but as soon as school was out and Angela delivered to the surgery it was hers as she chattered to anyone and everyone who would listen about her day. Her Mummy couldn't always be there at first, there were patients who needed seeing to and mothers giving birth. By the time she was 4 she was completely unfazed by the screams of labour, instead just swinging her legs on her chair as she charmed the waiting room occupants.

Tim always made sure to not sit in the chair when he was at the surgery-it was a special place shared by his father and beloved baby sister. He didn't mind, he had more than enough traditions and rituals with his family. When he went off to university the photo that took pride of place was one of his mother perched on her desk with his father sat in the chair, Angela wrapped in his arms as she once again managed to not look at the camera-God knows he loved his sister but she could not manage to look into cameras to save her life. Which was ironic, he would laugh many years later, given her eventual career as a photographer.

When she too went off to university her father sent her regular photos of the chair to assure her it was safe and happy and waiting for her return. It was somewhat battered now, visibly dented by years of her kicking its legs, but it had stayed opposite her mothers desk until the day her father retired four years ago-retired being a very loose use of the term, her father had not slowed down an iota citing the need to keep up with his gorgeous young wife who was no longer quite so young.

The chair had found pride of place in Angela's bedroom after that, waiting for the day she would return from university. On the days her father missed her most of all he would go and sit on it, the slight indent on its seat as its sitters wore away at it and the rough edges from where they had both scratched and picked away at it over the years making him feel closer to her. And making the urge to phone her unresistable.

What had started out as a convenience for her parents love became the most tangible show of devotion her father and her had. Her parents still loved each other fiercely and it still represented that but it now had an even greater power.

An unassuming chair, four plain legs, an uninspired backing, a hard seat that caused your rear to quickly go numb, had become home.

* * *

**Reviews appreciated xx**


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